


Each for the Other

by gardnerhill



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, M/M, Triple Drabble, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I knew what he really meant – but what better way to teach him the importance of homonyms?” – Emo Phillips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Each for the Other

**Author's Note:**

> For the JWP 2015 Prompt #30, **Words of Warning.** "You are going to die tonight."  Use this however it inspires you.

“You are going to die tonight! You, sir! Yes, and you too, his companion! Brothers not in blood but in bond! Tonight both of you die, each for the other!”

Holmes and I were both amused by the ranting fellow in Hyde Park pointing at both of us, even if a few nearby souls looked at us nervously and a nearby policeman even crossed himself. I was as unmoved as was Sherlock Holmes; I might have a little more faith in the spiritual side of existence and the possibility of foresight than does my rational friend, but I also have experience with the symptoms of monomania and madness, of which this seemed far more indicative than of any manifestation of the Sight.

But as it turns out, the strange man was a true foreseer.

That very evening Holmes and I chased a known agent of a European crime syndicate through a warehouse attached to a blueing factory, and emerged from among the vats triumphantly gripping our quarry. Since we’d been forced to suppress his murderous impulses by tipping him into one of said vats – I struck the first blow to deflect his aim at Holmes, and my friend finished the job of sending him into the vat when he turned his gun on me – M. Lecoq went off to the cells at Scotland Yard resembling a Celtic warrior in hue. Holmes groaned when I jocularly pointed out that each of us had indeed _dyed_ that night to keep the other safe.

Then we two returned to Baker Street and once again fulfilled that prophecy, in the French sense of the word. Twice.

My last thought before joining my lover in sleep was a resolution to return to Hyde Park and ask that chap for the names of a few racehorses.


End file.
